


Encounter

by HunterusHeroicus



Series: Chair Lift Fanfiction [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Past Rape/Non-con, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-11
Updated: 2015-01-11
Packaged: 2018-03-07 02:44:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3158273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HunterusHeroicus/pseuds/HunterusHeroicus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John knew it was only a matter of time before Sherlock caught up to Moriarty. He hadn't been expecting the man to come to them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Encounter

"Look, all I'm saying is that's not kind thing to do."

  
John had barely finished reprimanding Sherlock when the door slammed open. Sherlock sighed, not looking up from his microscope. John looked up in surprise at the man who'd strode boldly in. Was this one of Mycroft's employees?

  
"Hey, sexy."

  
John saw Sherlock stiffen and turn to face the man. Recognition flared in his eyes, and John wondered where he'd seen him before.

  
"John," Sherlock said, his voice low and urgent. "I need a scalpel, they're in the mortuary. Go fetch me one."

  
"Sherlock," John replied. "Are you sure that's a good idea?"

  
"John. Go"

  
Cautiously, John backed into the mortuary. He'd just turned to grab a scalpel from the rack when he heard the door close. The lock clicked sharply, and John ran to it. He tugged at the handle in a futile attempt to free himself.

  
"Ah, Johnny-boy."

  
There was a sharp tap at the window facing the lab, and John turned to face the suited man standing there.

  
"Who are you?" He asked. "What do you want?"

  
The man grinned, and John recoiled slightly at the expression in his eyes, the twist of his lips.

  
"Don't you recognize me?" The man twirled, red tie fluttering. "Then again, I hardly think you'd mistake me for..." here the man paused, and slumped into a familiar posture. "Dear old Jim, from IT."

  
Jim? Molly's gay boyfriend? John began to ask him what the bloody hell he was doing, but Jim was no longer paying attention to him. He was circling Sherlock like a shark, licking his lips as his eyes roamed hungrily up and down Sherlock's body.

  
"Sherlock recognized me," Jim continued. "He knows who I am, don't you, love?"

  
Sherlock didn't reply. He was watching Jim warily, always turning to face the man.

  
"Sorry about the phone, by the way," Moriarty said, with a calculated laziness that made John shiver. "It's a shame the replacement wasn't up to your standards."

  
Sherlock's eyes widened, lips clamping down before he prised them open to speak.

  
"Moriarty."

  
"Moriarty..." John echoed, trying to remember where he'd heard the name before. "Moriarty, Moriarty, Moriar -"

  
Moriarty. The single word Sherlock had gotten out of the cabbie at the end of their first case. Moriarty was, evidently, this man.

  
The man in question inclined his head, acknowledging the recognition.

  
"You were right about the pills, by the way," Moriarty continued, his smile raising the hairs on Johns arms. "I like a clever man."

  
His hands went to his throat, loosening his tie. He moved in slow, deliberate motions, keeping his eyes locked with Sherlock's.

  
"Such useful things, ties." He said, slowly running his hand down the length of it before easing it off completely. He moved towards John again, and through the window John saw him drape the tie over the mortuary doorknob.

  
"Just like college, darling." Moriarty had turned to face Sherlock again. "Don't you remember?"

  
John watched helplessly as Sherlock shuddered. He looked stricken for several moments, then... nothing. He simply stood there as Moriarty gently eased Sherlock's suit jacket off his shoulders. It pooled around their legs, and Sherlock didn't move as Moriarty leaned in to kick it out of the way. The blank look on Sherlock's face... John couldn't face it any longer.

  
"Sherlock!" He yelled, reaching out with a stiff fist to pound on the glass.

  
"He can't hear you," Moriarty gloated. "I took care of that."

  
He stepped towards Sherlock, allowing their chests to touch as he inhaled deeply. Moriarty licked his lips once more, almost an unconscious motion. He undid Sherlock's belt, and Johns' stomach clenched.

  
"Sherlock!" He yelled again.

  
Sherlock did nothing. He didn't move as Moriarty roughly pulled his shirt out of his pants, and he didn't move as Moriarty slipped slender fingers up his back. John could see them skittering like spiders under the white fabric. When Moriarty reached the top of Sherlock's back, he dug his nails in and slashed down. Thin lines of blood began to appear.

  
"A little something to remember me by, dearest."

  
Moriarty seemed to revel in the havoc he wreaked, an unholy terror whose eyes glittered with malice. John could only watch helplessly as Moriarty backed Sherlock up into the counter. He reached for Sherlock's wrists, and Sherlock let him, just let him pin them behind his back. He leaned in close to Sherlock's neck, and John felt the cold, heavy knot in his stomach grow as Moriarty sucked and bit at the delicate skin just below Sherlock's jaw. He let out a small, choked whimper, and Moriarty growled in response, roughly grinding his hips against Sherlock's'.

  
John tore his face away from the scene, desperately searching for something, anything to catch his eye instead.

 

  
"Why aren't you watching, Johnny-boy?"

  
John whirled around to find Moriarty standing by the window, smiling down on him.

  
His eyes, he thought. His smiles never reach his eyes.

  
"If you don't watch, I'm going to have to do something... very naughty." Moriarty mused. "Maybe I'll just hold you down and fuck you until you bleed."

  
John couldn't move. He was barely breathing, lost in those cold, dead eyes.

  
"Enough!"

  
Sherlock seemed to have snapped out of his stupor. He was disheveled; shirt rumpled and bloody, the mark on his neck blooming like an ugly flower.

  
"You've made your point," Sherlock pleaded.

  
Moriarty had turned away from John to stare at Sherlock. He took a step towards him, then faltered.

  
"I suppose it has," he said softly. Moriarty turned, swooping down to pick up Sherlock's suit jacket. He draped it over his shoulder and sauntered over to the door. "I enjoyed our little fling, love."

  
The door opened, shut, and he was gone.


End file.
